Lost, To Be Found
by chocolvr260
Summary: Alex was a complete wreck, both mentally and physically, after his capture after his last mission, Codename FALCON. He is obviously broken, but when he goes to live with a person he knew a long time ago, he wonders if the broken can't be fixed.


WOLF

Wolf couldn't lie. He was a wreck. He was currently being briefed by the head of MI6, for his newest mission. That is, if you could call it a mission. He was chosen to house some MI6 kid, for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend. He had no experience with kids, an objection he had voiced very loudly to Mrs. Jones. She had countered with a soft, "I wouldn't call 10 years of essentially taking complete care of four younger siblings no experience, James." He had chosen, quite wisely he thought, to shut up at this point.

"Very good," Jones had nodded at him. "As I was saying, you will be housing and protecting Alex Rider. He is currently 16 years of age. He is 5'7'', blond hair and brown eyes. You, of course, will know this once you meet him, but some basic information is always a good thing.

"He was always... sarcastic. That side of him has since almost completely faded, but be prepared for a few barbs in your direction. I would recommend that you do not touch him, at least until you earn some trust from him. At the very least, he would break your arm. There, also, will be no restraining of him in a way that could be considered an attack or attempt on his life. He would most likely attemp to kill you, and there is no saying whether or not he would be successful this time."

The two deadly words, 'this time', left a lump of apprehension to settle in Wolf's stomach. Jones, quite obviously noting this, said, "Alex has no drive to kill, unless appropriately provoked." Wolf, reverting into 'soldier' mode, said "Understood."

Mrs. Jones, also noticing this abrupt change, nodded in approval.

"Yes. He will also be required to go to the therapist three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. You have been given clearance to attend these sessions, though you do not have to be in the room. You are, however, required to be within a five meter perimeter of the door, in case there were to be an attack on him. He is also required to take his depression medication twice a day, generally after breakfast and after dinner. He is also required to take his pain medication three times a day, once per mealtime usually. Make sure that he swallows them. He has been known to be... creative in his methods of avoiding the medication.

"He will..."

Just then, the door crashed open. Wolf, ever the soldier, jumped up into a ready fighting stance. There was a faintly familiar figure hovering in the doorway. Familiar, but Wolf couldn't bring himself to remember what it was that was tickling the back of his conscious thought.

"Wolf?"'

Realisation came crashing down on him like a block of cement

.

ALEX - EARLIER THAT DAY

Alex couldn't lie. He was a wreck.

Actually, that was misworded. He could lie, very convincingly and efficiently. He was just unable to do so to himself. No matter how hard he tried to, he would never be able to lie to himself as effectively as he was able to to others.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never rid himself of the niggle in the back of his head, telling him he was just kidding himself. That niggle of doubt that completely destroyed his efforts at convincing himself.

But he was getting off topic. He was a wreck, but he thought he hid it pretty well from. That is, until he had been prevented from killing himself for the third time. The first time had been a coincidence, he had told himself, the second time similar, suspicions raised from the first. However, by the third he knew he was being watched. He had always known it, or course, but it was then that he accepted it.

It was only after the fourth time, however, that his every slight feeling of independence was destroyed. He was assigned an agent to watch over his every move, go with him to the bathroom so he couldn't try again. His depression medication was upped, and his counseling sessions increased to four times a week instead of three. He still childishly refused to take his pain medications, except when he honestly couldn't handle the pain. Now, though, instead of having that turned a blind eye to, he was forced to take them.

He still couldn't sleep for the nightmares, and was steadily getting skinnier because of either throwing up the food from too much or the nightmares themselves. He was skinny to begin with, but at least before he had eaten. He still had his muscle mass, from a workout regime he followed religiously, but other than that, he was skin and bones.

Today he was going in to see Mrs. Jones, to speak about his 'new living conditions'. Apparently, since he had overpowered the agent assigned to him, they decided it was time for something new.

Internally, he scoffed. What kind of person did it have to be, for them to think that he wouldn't be able to overpower him, too? Either it was some kind of incredibly highly trained martial artist or something of the like, or it was someone he would refuse to try to overpower. But this was impossible. After all, he had lost everyone he cared about, in one way or another. Dead or gone, but abandoning him either way.

Now that he completed his schooling at home, it was no problem to complete his assigned work for the day. School was easy, once you subtracted the droning teachers, the screaming and taunting kids, and the disgusting lunch-substitute.

Alex had found out extremely quickly that school was too much for him, after returning from his final mission, codename FALCON. There was too much of everything. Too much noise, too many sounds, too many things that sent all his senses to tingling and his body on high alert. He had needed only one full-blown panic attack in the middle of the hallway to know that he shouldn't be there. School was just one more thing stolen from him by bloody MI6. He had gone on too many missions, lived through too many deadly situations for him to be left unscathed. But apparently, he sneered in his head, a new 'babysitter' would make everything all better. For sure.

He amused himself for a few hours, organizing his wide variety of different rocks. He had started to collect them about 2 and a half years back, when he was 14 years old. The year MI6 had started to ruin his life. He had a good amount, and would have gotten more, but he wasn't able to go out very much anymore. Not only was M16 afraid that he would escape and try again, but he also wasn't able to handle it for very long, in the same way he wasn't able to handle school. After being in a cell where there was no light, no smells except for that of his blood, and no sound except for that of his screams for such a long time, all of that was a sense overload. M16 had called his time in the cell a 'new form of sensory torture' or something, he wasn't quite sure.

The entire time they had talked, he had covered his ears and hummed.

How they even knew what had happened to him was a complete blank to Alex. All he knew was that he had never told them. He physically couldn't have.

His intense musings complete, Alex looked to the clock and found that it was near the time he would have to leave for the Royal and General. He didn't take the tube anymore, though. It used to be his private rebellion against the forces tearing his life down, brick by brick, but now he took a company car sent to collect him.

The nameless MI6 agent, sitting in the chair in the corner of his room, left the room at the same time, following a few centimeters behind.

Alex nearly let out a smirk, noticing this. The agent had learned his lesson extrememly quickly. He had, before, followed some feet behind Alex, until one day to amuse himself Alex had dashed into the bathroom before he could react, and locked the door. Alex had sat idly, refusing to open the door, forcing the agent to break down the door. He had been quite obviously fuming, obviously to Alex at least. He was trying to hide his emotions, and to Alex, who had already mastered it, he did an extremely poor job of it.

Alex sighed, nearly inaudibly. The company car, sleek and black, was already idling out in the street. He looked down and saw that his fingers were already trembling, simply with the thought of going outside. He, however, was also master of body control, and forced himself to stop. Nearly immedietaly, the shaking stopped. He took one last deep breath before walking steadily out the door. He was near bowled over by the sudden sensations, but was able to recover and run to the door, looking as though it should be raining, and he running from the unavoidable wet. In fact, it was a miracle that it wasn't raining. It was, after all, London.

He stepped into the car, sagging in relief at the quiet, steady atmosphere of the car, such a stark difference to the blanket of sensations in the Outside. The driver looked slightly puzzled, but didn't say anything, for he had been told of the sky-high ranking of his current passenger, and he valued his job.

One eventful ride to the Bank later, Alex stood over the place he had been shot. He was in a near trance as he scanned the nearby rooftops. One guard smiled sympathetically at him, already knowing what had happened all those years ago. Another guard looked on, quite obviously puzzled.

"What's up with that kid?" the guard prodded at the other. He shivered as Alex turned his cold, lifeless eyes on him for a fleeting moment, before turning on his heel and walking into the building.

"Oh," the other guard said, fixing him with a searching gaze, "You didn't know? He was shot there a few years back. Miracle he survived, actually."

The guard started, staring back at the place the boy had been standing over before. He then looked towards the doorway, wondering about the mystery of the boy who was shot on M16's doorstep, and lived to tell the tale.

Alex, meanwhile, walked through the doors of M16, only to be hit with a gust of industrially-formed ice for air. A woman with copious amounts of makeup stared up at him, with an air of one faintly surprised. Alex sighed, for this woman was quite obviously new. This was going to be fantastic.

"Hello sir," the woman said, with a smile. And here we go, Alex thought. She's reverted to script. Unaware of his thoughts, she continued on.

"I'm extremely sorry, but you're going to need an appointment in order to-"

Here, he decided, was a fine time to cut her off. "I have an appointment for 4 'o'clock with Mrs. Jones," he said smoothly.

Looking slightly ruffled at being interrupted, she said, "I'm sorry, but there is no one-"

"with the name Mrs. Jones here," he said, fairly bored already. "I apologise. I meant the head of Monetary Interest, Faction Six if you will."

He watched as her eyes went to new levels of wide, and as she fumbled with the phone to talk in hushed and urgent tones.

"Yes," she said finally, "She is waiting for you." Alex though about retorting sharply with an 'I should think so', but then decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't the woman's fault she was new and inexperienced.

He strolled over to the elevator, waiting patiently for the doors to slide open before stepping inside. He punched in the button for the 11th floor, the floor where his entire life had been altered, he though bitterly. He was able ride up a few floors before feeling the first coils of fear and tension building in his stomach. Usually, as in on missions, this feeling was necessary, in order to avoid a rather nasty end. This, however, was nothing more than claustrophobia. Which, he noted absently, was nothing more than a bloody annoying reaction. He knew he shouldn't be afraid, but the more primitive side of his mind tended to disagree.

He reached the 11th floor, and smoothly stepped off. His eyes automatically flickered around his surroundings, taking in everything, even as he assumed the walk of one who knew exactly what they were doing, a rather commanding stance. Even as he walked closer and closer to the head of MI6's office, his eyes continued to move. Locking onto something, analyzing, moving on, in a constant dance that came as easily to him as breathing by this point. Anyone in this building could look at those eyes and identify them as those of an agent or an assassin.

Not that there was much different between the two though, Alex mused silently. It only depended which side they were on in current society. What a depressing thought.

He reached Mrs. Jones door, which he was just about to knock on, before deciding against it, and instead opting for barging through the door, readying his unavoidable splaying of limbs on her couch.

However, what he saw in Mrs. Jones' office stopped him in his tracks.

"Wolf?"

Well, here's the start of my second Alex Rider fanfiction! Woot woot! I know I should probably be continuing my other story, but I have had a bit of unfortunate writer's block on that one. Anyway, tell me what you think! Sorry for any errors, and I'm definitely open to some constructive criticism. Until next time.

SH


End file.
